His tongue was probing her, exploring the recesses of her mouth, whispering secrets without saying a word. She sighed against his mouth, and her hands lifted higher until they tangled in his hair. Her body sagged with need. When had they last slept together? Only two nights ago? It might as well have been a lifetime. She pushed up on the sofa and straddled him, needing more. Closer contact, touch, skin. She pushed at his shirt, grunting when it resisted.
He laughed, but it was an uneven laugh, rich with his own eagerness. His fingers pushed her dress up easily, finding the soft skin of her back. He ran his hands over it, and she moved her hips, pressing lower, craving contact.
Gael’s laugh was throaty. “Dios Mio, I could take you here. You make me feel like an out of control teenager, and not a thirty five year old man.”
Carrie finally succeeded in pulling his shirt from his waistband. She felt his abdominals with awe, her eyes heavy with sensual greed. “Take me then.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of passion. “We are almost there.”
She didn’t ask where. “Take me quickly then.”
He tilted his head back and she chased his neck, running her tongue along the stubbled length. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, and the buckle of his jeans. She pushed them aside, and Gael shifted his weight a little, so that his arousal could be freed from his clothing. Carrie moaned as her hands wrapped around his length. She knelt up, and Gael used his hands to push aside her underwear. She took him hungrily and desperately, arching her back as she felt him fill her. She moaned against his ear as they moved in time with the rocking waves beneath the boat.
The boat slowed and their speed increased. Carrie exploded as the boat came in to dock against a simple timber pier. Gael’s face was pale from the exertion of holding his own release. He watched his beautiful lover, her young face pink beneath the make up, her eyes fluttered shut, and he felt as though strings were being tied in neat little lines around his heart, banding him together in a way he hadn’t known he needed.
“Gael?” She asked breathlessly, when she realised he was holding back. Her fingers were tight in his shirt.
He shook his head. “No protection.”
“Shit!” Her blue eyes flew wide and she lifted shaking fingers to her lips. “Shit!” She lifted herself away from him quickly, her body weak from the pleasure that was still running over her body like warm oil. “That was… crazy.”
“Mmm,” he agreed with a shrug. “Crazy amazing.”
Carrie shook her head. “But you’re … you didn’t …”
“No.” He stood, so that he could dress himself, then he caught her hands in his and pulled her up. He knelt before her, lifted her skirt and straightened her underwear. He kissed the smooth flesh of her flat stomach and met her eyes seriously. “There is time, Carrie. All the time in the world.”
Her heart turned over at the promise that neither of them wanted to make. Not really. After all, time would run out on them. They both knew it. In that wonderful moment, that slice of time out of time, she didn’t want to acknowledge it though.
She looked away and swallowed past the unwelcome lump of emotion that had formed in her throat. “Where are we?” Her voice was a whisper, a strange sounding noise to her own ears.
“Home.”
She wasn’t really concentrating. Her mind was backlogged; her brain confused. Gael stood and tangled his fingers with hers, pulling her towards the upper deck.
“Home?” Her sluggish mind finally stirred to life as they emerged out into the fresh sea air.
His smile transformed his face, it was almost boyish in its simple delight.
“This is where I grew up.”
Carrie turned her attention fully to the island that loomed before them. “What is this place?”
“Sol Sobre El Mar.” Even the name sounded magical. She breathed it in, absorbed it, and tasted it on her lips, repeating it in the same accented way.
“What does it mean?” She asked, watching as the crew they hadn’t seen during the voyage tied the boat fast to the pier.
“Sun rising over the sea.”
“Gorgeous,” she whispered.
“Si. It is a small island, but prosperous in its way.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly, studying the pristine shoreline and bright white buildings speckled over the cliff side. In the distance of the cove, little fishing boats bobbed brightly on the shimmering sea.
“I lived here until I was ten.” He squeezed her hand and began to guide her off the boat. She smiled at the crew as they passed.
“Until the divorce?” She pushed sympathetically.
“Si. My father took me to Barcelona for a time. Until I started boarding school.”
Carrie shook her head, feeling sadness for the boy he had been, plucked from the arms of a mother he adored; a mother who adored him.
“And your mum stayed here?” Carrie continued her quiet questioning, pleased when Gael didn’t shut down.
“My mother had lived here all her life. Her father was a fisherman in the village. She stayed, and got a job as a cook at a local restaurant.”
“I’d like to meet her some time.” Carrie frowned as the words escaped her. Where had that come from? Meeting his mother spoke of a commitment she didn’t feel – a commitment they would never pledge. She shook her head. “I mean, you know, or not.”
He nodded gruffly, understanding why she’d tacked the ‘back out’ comment onto the end of her statement. It had surprised him too. But then, bringing her to Sol Sobre El Mar had also shocked the hell out of him.
A shining black convertible was waiting, parked on the sandy grass edge of the beach. Gael slipped some keys from his pocket, clicked a button then opened the front passenger door for her.
“You know, there are times where you remind me distinctly of James Bond,” she said sardonically, slipping into the seat.
He laughed. “It is easy to be like Bond with a small army of staff.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she agreed with a droll tone.
Carrie stretched her arms above her head and smiled. Gael froze mid-way to opening his door.
It was her. Carrie 1.0. Real Carrie.
His breathing became shallow, and he hardly dared move, in case she went away again.
“Are you okay?” She queried, turning her face to him, smile still on her beautiful lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No ghost,” he promised thickly, shaking his head to clear his head. He slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.
It was hot and humid on Sol Sobre El Mar, though the sea breeze was heavenly. As Gael steered the car away from the ocean, higher and higher up one of the many steep cliffs that edged the island, Carrie felt like her own happiness was ascending.
The fact that this was very temporary – and probably temporary madness – was entirely irrelevant. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy life.
His home was built in a classic Spanish style, with red bricks, large archways and a terracotta roof. A balcony ran the whole upper level, and tufty green plants with purple horn-shaped flowers ran rampant along the walls. There was a tower in the centre, with a glistening copper bell visible through its windows.
The air was thick with the smell of honeysuckles and the sound of bees.
Carrie stepped out of the car as soon as it stopped, and slid her sandals from her feet. She walked to the lush green grass and squished her toes against it, almost bursting out with laughter. Another perfect moment. She was happy. So happy.
She walked across the grass, and plucked a frangipani bloom from a tree. She ran her fingers over the silky white flesh and sighed.
“Do you like it?” Gael sounded nervous. Tentative.
Carrie looked up at him with surprise. “It’s heaven on earth, Gael. I don’t know why you ever spend time anywhere else.”
His dark eyes lanced her, probing her, trying to understand her. “It is not well placed for business m
eetings,” he pointed out with a shrug.
Carrie grinned. “You could always send your James Bond crew to bring people over.”
His expression showed a half-smile. “I try to avoid bringing business here. This is a different world. A different culture.”
She nodded slowly, not sure she completely understood. “Show me.”
He leaned down and kissed her hair. “I intend to.” He linked fingers with hers, and tugged her towards the house. It was cool inside. Enormous tiles ran the length of the corridor, and the walls were clay. The villa had a noticeable symmetry to it. As Gael led her from room to room, showing her the various entertaining spaces and then the beautiful bedrooms, Carrie became more and more convinced that it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen.
Finally, at the back, he led her to a pool. “Swim with me?”
A fine bead of sweat had broken out at the back of her neck, beneath her hair. The water lapped invitingly against the tiled edge of the pool.
“I didn’t bring my bathers.”
“So?” He lifted her dress over her head and draped it over a lounger. “We are alone.”
Carrie shook her head. “No army of staff here?”
“Not today,” he promised, kissing her neck.
Oh, she wanted to. The thought of submerging herself in the water and holding him close, feeling his warmth in contrast to the lapping of the cold water… it was a deliciously tempting notion.
“I can’t,” she said, with true regret.
“Never learned to swim?” He teased, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting his hands drift lower, to cup her rounded bottom.
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent swimmer. For an English girl, anyway.”
He laughed against her ear, sending shockwaves of desire through her. “Prove it then.”
Carrie shook her head. She had woken at five o’clock to do a perfect blow dry, and her hair hung chic and elegant around her face. Her make up was perfect, and she had none with her to top it up. The thought of Gael seeing her drenched like a drowned rat, again, was abhorrent.
“No,” she said more firmly than was warranted by the flirtatious invitation. She smiled to soften it. “I’m much more interested in seeing your bedroom again.”
Gael nodded, but cogs were turning in his mind. Why wouldn’t she swim with him? It was a hot day, and the water was seductive for its cool turquoise depth.
What was she so afraid of?
10
Carrie watched him from a distance. Beneath the shade of an enormous olive tree, comfortably ensconced in the middle of a bright blanket Gael had carefully spread, Carrie felt like a Mediterranean princess. She crossed her legs, a smile twitching on her lips as Gael rescued yet another strawberry from the tumbling mass of green that covered the orchard floor. He added it to the wicker basket and sent her a ‘hail the victorious’ grin, wiggling his dark eyebrows.
Carrie nodded in smiling acknowledgement, and collapsed back against the cushions. Above her, a network of pale green leaves shielded her from the midday sun’s bright heat, but dappled light danced through determinedly, bathing her in a web of glitter. She reached her hands up towards the heavens, staring at the sunny patterns on her arms and palms.
As a child, she’d loved to spend time outdoors. Her father had been a keen hunter, and he’d taken Carrie out with him often. Always putting her safely away from his field of quarry, but close enough that she could see him. He had been tall and slim, and very strong.
Losing him first to divorce, and then to death, had marred Carrie’s young life. She had often felt, disloyally, that she would do anything for Alexandra to be the one who’d died instead.
The last day she’d seen her dad, Alexandra had slapped him, hard on the cheek. Carrie had been in the car, watching. She’d seen Alexandra’s slender arm fly, the finger impressions she’d left on his cheek. The way her eyes had blurred with tears as she’d stormed away. And her father, who Carrie loved and adored, had turned and walked off without another look. Carrie had wanted to run to him, to ask him what had happened? To ask him why he was leaving them? Why didn’t he love them anymore?
He’d died two weeks later, when an over-tired lorry driver had careened onto the wrong side of the road. Carrie had never got to say goodbye.
It was strange to think of such sadness when she was in the middle of a gorgeous Spanish garden, with a man who could set her soul on fire with a single look.
“You’re away with the pixies,” Gael observed, settling himself beside her and lifting a single strawberry from the basket. He wiped it on his jeans, uncaring that it left a gentle pink hue to them, then traced the pointed tip around her lips.
“Fairies,” she corrected automatically, lifting her fingers to bat away the strawberry. “That tickles.”
Gael frowned as he lay back beside her, propping up on one elbow so that he could regard her carefully. “What are you thinking about?”
Carrie angled her face to his, and scanned his handsome features. “Life,” she said finally, a small shrug shaking her shoulders.
“What in particular?” He prompted, pushing a finger into the strawberry at its fattest point, to release some juice onto his finger. He lifted it to her mouth and dribbled it in, pleased when she darted a tongue out to taste more.
She sighed, deeply. “It’s strange.” She propped up on her elbow, forming a bookend shape to him. “I was thinking of my father.” She lifted her fingers to his chest, tracing a slight pattern that ran through the weave of his shirt.
Gael was fascinated. He knew very little of the man who had given half of his being in the creation of Carrie. “What were you thinking?” He probed gently.
“How much he loved being outdoors. I did too, when he was alive. We spent a lot of time in the grounds of Forrest View. Just like this. He used to set me up comfortably, and carry on with his business – hunting, normally. I’d watch, and I’d feel the sun on my back, the grass beneath me, and it always seemed that everything was right in the world.” Her lips lifted in a bemused grimace. “No war. No famine. No terrorism. Just beautiful nature and the freedom to enjoy it.”
“How old were you when he…” The question hung, unfinished, between them.
“Seven.” She closed her eyes. Gael was transfixed by the change she was able to effect. Her face went from grief stricken and nostalgic to completely barren of feeling in the blink of an eye.
“It must have been very hard on you.”
Carrie’s eyes were the last part of her to show that she was experiencing any emotion. “It was a long time ago.” She pushed up to a sitting position once more and reached for a strawberry. “These look delicious.”
Gael didn’t move. He continued to study her as she brushed a strawberry and then bit into it. A tiny bit of the red juice flowed down her chin; she caught it with her finger and laughed a little shakily.
“What else do you remember about him?” Gael pushed, fully aware he was stepping over a line. Her ability to shut herself off infuriated him in every way. It made him itch to shake her, to shout at her, to force her to acknowledge that her feelings were real.
“Lots of things.” She twirled another strawberry by its green end, then dug her nails in to perforate it from the red fruit. She leaned down, and covered his body with hers. She held the strawberry to his mouth, in the same way he had to her.
His black eyes held her gaze as he took it between his teeth. But when she would have pulled her hand away, he grabbed it, and nipped the firm flesh below her thumb with his hands. He kissed her wrist, and then took a finger in his mouth, tasting it along with the strawberry.
Carrie’s eyes fluttered closed, and that frustrated him, too.
“I want to make love to you here, and I want you to keep your eyes open.”
She laughed tremulously. “Is that an order?”
His eyes flared wide. “It’s a firm request.”
He was serious and intent; serious enough to make Car
rie nod. “Yes please.”
He smiled tightly, disposing of their clothes quickly. His skin was warm from the day and the sunshine. Carrie held him close, wondering why she felt cold in her core.
Gael ran his hands reverently down her body, his calloused palms brushing against her breasts, teasing her nipples, making her ache and need and writhe. She reached for him, seeking fulfilment, but he laughed gently. “Soon, princesa,” he promised throatily.
He kissed her neck, and then her breasts, teasing one with his fingers while the other was tormented by his tongue. He paused before taking her, to stare down at her face.
“Eyes open,” he commanded firmly.
Carrie watched, as he pressed into her, and she felt her muscles contract around his length. She moaned and scratched his back, lifting her bottom desperately, but she didn’t close her eyes.
They stared at one another, black eyes hunting blue, while their bodies spiralled inexorably towards the relief they both needed with desperate urgency. Carrie swore as she felt herself tumble apart, glad that Gael was holding her, because he was surely holding her together. Without him, she suspected she might have flown high up into the heavens, to join the matter of the universe.
“Gael,” she whispered against his cheek, her desperation apparent. “What is this?”
He ran a hand over her pale hair, his eyes showing her something she didn’t comprehend. He didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped onto his back, rolling her with him, so that she lay caressed and cosseted against his chest.
Carrie felt safe. She felt adored. She felt happy. And it scared her. Because the happier she was, the harder she knew it would be to process the end of all this.
“Darling?”
Gael awoke with a start. His arm was heavy, tingling with the unfamiliar sensation of pins and needles. The curtain of his bedroom billowed with a gentle breeze, and the sound of traffic was absent. So was that uniquely familiar Barcelona smell- heat, pavement, nicotine, and rain.
He frowned. He was on Sol. He tilted his head. Carrie was with him. Asleep on his arm, which explained the heavy sensation flooding his dead-feeling limb. He studied her face, completely relaxed in repose, and his heart clenched. He ached to reach over and wipe that pale pink eyeshadow off her face. To see her as she’d been at her hotel, after swimming.